


Coasters, Salad Forks, and Corinthian Leather, Oh my!

by girlofthearts



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic, Humor, Lack of Communication, M/M, friends try to help and fail, lovino calls an exorcist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlofthearts/pseuds/girlofthearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino is convinced his apartment is haunted. Antonio just wants to ask Lovi to move in with him, and to stop compulsively stealing his boyfriend's home decor. Gilbert and Francis are not. helpful. But hey, what's a little petty theft between friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coasters, Salad Forks, and Corinthian Leather, Oh my!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingandchocolatemilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/gifts).



It started small.

It was a disgustingly and unexpectedly warm April day. Lovino had very much _not_ dressed for the weather.

He began unbuttoning his shirt even before he finished unlocking the door, the fabric clingy and damp. With his keys in hand, he tried to navigate around the tiny disks. He only succeeded in frustrating himself and dropping his keys.

Swooping low to grab them, the keys were swiftly deposited on the hook designated for their purpose.

Shirt tossed draped over a chair, the smack of windows sliding open, and the sadly sputtering air conditioner switched on.

“If heat rises, then the upper levels of hell are hottest.” Lovino mused to himself, now banging through his kitchen, looking for a cold and refreshing (read: _alcoholic_ ) drink.

He nodded, deftly pouring with a sharp twist of the wrist. “No doubt about it. This is the first level of hell. I’ll have to remember and tell Father O’Tierney.”

He smiled with genuine enjoyment at the idea of picking a fight with the very, very Irish priest of the local parish.

More comfortable in just his undershirt, Lovino took himself and his drink back into the small living room, rolling the kinks from his neck.

With a deep sigh and a long pull from his glass as he draped himself on the couch, life was momentarily good.

He stretched out his hand to put the glass down on the nearby coffee table, groping blindly for the coaster.

And still searching. And searching. Lifting his arm away from his face, Lovino blinked over at the empty space on the coffee table. “What the hell? Where’s that fucking coaster?”

It wasn’t there. Not just not on the coffee table, but not on the end table, in the kitchen, in his bedroom, tiny hall table, or even put away in the cabinets. The air was turning blue with the litany of… _displeasure_.

…

It was later that same week and Lovino couldn’t sleep. He alternated between staring at the ceiling and staring at the clock; his mind racing and body tired.

‘Goddamn Feliciano. How the fuck would I know if pigeons have feelings? And why would anywhere care?!’ An exasperated sigh broke the stillness.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about the fucking pigeons?” He piteously asked the empty room. As the late evening became early morning, he gave it up as a bad job, rolling over in his sheet burrito to turn on the lamp at his bedside.

He paused, hand outstretched. The brass lamp was distinctly… naked. “What in the name of Christ’s left testicle is this?”

 

The lampshade. Was gone. The wire cage protecting the lightbulb was bare and glinting off of the barely-there light shining through the windows.

Lovino retracted his hand slowly, as if it would bite him. He cast his eyes around the room, and rolled over into his pillow.

“No. _No._ Sleep.”

…

Over the weekend, the handtowels ceased to exist.

Followed by all of the salad forks.

…

“I don’t understand it!?” He threw his hands up in helpless frustration. Accidentally smacking the other man in the face.

“Ah! Lovi-“

“Why? _Why?_   _WHO TAKES A MAN’S MOTHERFUCKING COASTERS?”_ His hazel eyes were wild. Antonio was relegated to soothing pats on the back (what he could reach, as Lovino was draped across him) “And stop moving! I’m trying to pour out my soul here.”

Another supportive murmur from the shift eyes Toni.

Lovino heaved a long, slow sigh. “I think my house is haunted.”

“Uh-huh- Wait. Qué?”

“My house.” Lovino stared at him and used small, slow words. As if talking to a small animal. “Shit disappears. No one is there. Spiritual inhabitants.”

“I know what a ghost is, yes.” Antonio was incredulous, “But instead of someone who…”

“Who what?”

Antonio floundered a little, “Maybe it’s a prank?”

“Yeah, from a ghost. Unless my potato-sucking brother has finally learned how to sneak in windows.”

His lovely eyes narrowed in thought. “Do you think I should try holy water first? Because if the little fuckwit is going to keep stealing my stuff, I don’t want to play games. Did you know, that lampshade was actual Tiffany glass? _Do you have any-?”_

Toni bit back a sigh of his own, resuming the soothing circles.

…

“This… is not working.”

“No shit, _Alter._ ”

“It may be time to reconsider your current strategy.”

Gilbert leaned against his propped up elbow, snickering. “I still can’t believe he was about to get a fucking exorcist. You’d think his screwy little mind would hop to the wonder twins before the undead.”

“I think only zombies count as undead. Maybe vampires as well?”

“Cálmate.” The Spaniard groaned, forehead planted on his kitchen table, “I need to think.”

Francis cut Gil’s undoubtedly sassy response off, perched on a bar stool. “You did take a tiffany glass lampshade. I’d kill someone too, even if they were already dead. How could he even _get_ a tiffany glass lamp?”

Francis was admiring said lampshade, and how the glass gleamed in the sunlight.

“Please put that down.” Was Toni’s muffled response, “And who’s response is to call la diócesis first thing? To get an _exorcist_? I didn’t even know that was a real thing!”

“Your boyfriend’s,” Was the dry rejoinder from his two friends.

“You aren’t helping!”

“Well _I_ didn’t realize real people owned coasters.”

“Doesn’t Roderich-“

“-Like I said, I didn’t realize real people-“

“Chicos!”

“Ah, right. Sorry.”

“Desole. But. Knowing how… particular Lovino is about his things, why would you take them in the first place?”

“I don’t know! I just-. I was over at his home, and I looked over at the coasters and thought ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if they were at my place for Lovino to yell at me about using them?’ And I thought about Lovi’s stuff at my place, and _Lovi_ at my place and I, well. I put the coasters in my bag.”

A muttered “So goddamn whipped.”

“Is now really the time?” Francis rolled his eyes, gesturing carelessly towards Toni. “In my opinion, you have two options.”

A snort from Gil, “Option one, is _man the fuck up and ask._ ”

He grinned in agreement, “What he said. _Or…_ you must do something that couldn’t possibly be a ghost. Make a statement.”

A dull thunk of head meeting the table-top. “Neither of those are good options!”

Francis shook his head with a muttered, “Hopeless.”

…

Gil and Francis excused themselves from their friend’s moping early. Antonio was listlessly explaining the situation to his houseplants as they closed the door behind them.

Calmly strolling down the path, Gil asked, “So, when do you want to go to Lovino’s?”

Francis cast him a sidelong glance and smiled secretively. “How soon can you get a truck?”

…

“Lift higher!”

“Non! I don’t bend that direction!”

“What are you talking about!? I said _lift._ ”

“ _Putain!_ That hurt!”

“My bad.”

The leather chair jutted halfway through the door. Gil was shoving ineffectually from the back, while Francis was trying to keep the chair aloft in the front.

Gil grunted as the chair inched forward in the frame, “You know, for a man that looks as built as you do, you’d expect a little more to show for it.”

Outrage colored the other man’s expression, and he viciously jabbed a finger at his compatriot’s chest. “What are you tr-“

“Watch it!” Francis quickly resumed his position as the bulky pain-in-the-ass slipped in the doorframe. “I think one good shove should-“

The metallic jangling of keys silenced them. Francis was staring through the doorway in abject horror.

Gil slowly turned his head.

The keys dropped from Lovino’s hand, his face contorting in rage.

Gil shoved for all he was worth, “GO GO GO!”

The armchair sprang free, and in a moment of complete synchrony, Francis and Gil hoisted the chair up over their heads and ran towards the truck like the hounds of hell were after them.

“THAT IS CORINTHIAN LEATHER YOU COCKSUCKING-MOTHERFUCKING SHITSTAINS!”

The tires squealed on the pavement.

….

The harsh whine of brakes and muffled shouting from the street made the neighborhood pause and take notice, Antonio included.

He meandered towards the window. It could simply be the pair of retirees from down on the corner racing their lawnmowers again. They were due a rematch any day now.

Toni perked up as his phone chimed, patting down his pockets to find it. “Hola?”

“Hey, ah, Toni. Listen, we left something for you at the end of the driveway.”

“ _My_ driveway?” He peered out through the curtains, curiously. Mrs. Jenkins across the road was shouting after whatever vehicle made that awful racket, but whatever it was, was long gone, “Wait. When did you leave it?

_What the hell was that on the driveway?_

“No, your next door neighbor’s. _Yes,_ your driveway. And, uh. I’d probably hurry and get it before…” a muffled curse, and the distinct sound of glass breaking, “ _I thought you knew how to drive a stick!?”_

Faintly, Toni could hear the distinctively counter-tenor tones of a panicked Francis.

 Something about brake pads?

“Gilbert,” He asked slowly, “Is that Lovi’s armchair sitting by my mailbox?”

The dial tone was the sole response.

“I need better friends.”

…

              By the time Antonio had managed to ever-so-carefully carry the armchair through the garage and towards his living room, the sun had dipped behind the Mrs. Jenkin’s satellite dish, and the cicadas had begun their nightly screaming. ~~~~

He gingerly set his burden down, trying not to simultaneously drop it on his foot.

‘Thunk.’ Antonio reflexively winced.

“You realize that doesn’t match another goddamn thing here”

In his surprise, Toño jerked forward so hard he slammed his foot against the leg of the chair. Cursing God, Mary, and the Holy Ghost, he peered up with watery eyes.

Lovino loomed over him, lips twisted into a snarl, “Doing some redecorating?”

“Ah, I can explain?”

The fabric of Lovi’s shirt pulled delightfully snug across his crossed arms.

“Let’s try and focus, fuckwit,” A hand fisted in the soft cotton of Toni’s T-shirt, half- dragging him to his feet, “You want to explain to me why the other two buggering fucks you call friends have been doing some light B&E? Or should I start guessing?”

“I took your coasters!”

“ _You did what?”_

“I want you to move in!”

“ _What did you do to my coasters!_?” Lovino was in the midst of giving him a shake, when he finally processed Toni’s last statement.

_Genuine emotion has entered the conversation: re-computing necessary._

“Please don’t be angry! I just wanted to ask you, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t mean to take your things, really. _Y no sé proque, pero- ”_

Lovino heaved a heavy, heavy sigh. “You fucktard.”

“I am sorry, Lovi.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have just asked after the coasters, and you probably wouldn’t have even noticed.” The pout on his face was beginning to reach alarming levels.

“Believe me, I noticed. But,” He sounded slowly, “my lease is up in six weeks. And I just know those bastards are going to jack up the price now I’m off the first year price fix. Shitty misers, the lot of them.”

Toni started to beam, “Lovi, it’d be so nice having you here! I promise I’ll cook, and water your tomatoes, and –“ He rambled on.

But Lovi was looking around in mounting despair at the mismatched craiglist furniture, and wondering if the recent paranoia had robbed him of his sense.

_It looks so goddamn cheap. Why me, God?_

He mumbled, “At least none of the furniture here matches already. I guess that’s something? Maybe?” Against the shoulder of his suddenly clingy boyfriend.


End file.
